<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>hold back by jetplane</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27004099">hold back</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetplane/pseuds/jetplane'>jetplane</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [13]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drowning, Gen, Rescue, Torture, Waterboarding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:06:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,430</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27004099</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetplane/pseuds/jetplane</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A member of the BAU is kidnapped by an unsub who kills his victims in a very specific way</p><p> </p><p>prompt: oxygen mask (day 13)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [13]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946050</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>hold back</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>content warnings in endnote</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’s beautiful, if you’re into that type. Dark hair. Designer suits. A silver tongue. Eyes that can see right through you, if you let them. Even when he’s sleeping, you can tell that he’s been through too much.</p><p>Oh yes, he’s beautiful all right. Which is disappointing, really.</p><p>It’s always a shame to kill the beautiful ones. But it must be done.</p><p>-</p><p>
  <em>Everything hurts. Why does everything hurt?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My head feels weird. Did someone hit me? Why can’t I remember anything?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wait. Where am I? Why can’t I move? Where is everybody?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hope they’re alright. Do whatever you want to me, but don’t touch them. Please.</em>
</p><p>-</p><p>He’s been unconscious for almost half a day now, which is more than a little concerning. Maybe the last blow to the head was overkill.</p><p>Not literally, of course. Hopefully.</p><p>It would be a shame for this one to go quickly. He’s different from the others. The star on the tree, the cherry on top, the perfectly tied ribbon around a neatly wrapped box. This one is going to make him famous.</p><p>As if on cue, he starts to stir. He tries to raise his head and then tugs against his bindings with the hopes of breaking free. His shouts echo around him as he shakes his head in a desperate attempt to remove the blindfold. Neither effort is successful.</p><p>It’s almost amusing how similar they are. No matter what lifestyle, what age, what training, they all have the same reactions. It’s as if there’s a human instinct programmed specifically for waking up chained to a table in a dark basement.</p><p>Of course there isn’t. Instincts have evolutionary purposes. They’re generational gifts, basic behaviors that need no prompting or explanation.</p><p>Like killing. That’s an instinct, right?</p><p>It has to be.</p><p>-</p><p>Aaron Hotchner has never felt so useless in his life. He’s been held at gunpoint and run into burning buildings and stood face-to-face with killers, but none of them can compare to this moment. His colleague, one of his oldest friends and mentors, is missing. In place is a grainy video of a black van that stands next to him one moment and is gone the next. No matter how much the images are enhanced, no one can make out the face.</p><p>It’s been almost two days since the dreadful late-night call that came from Erin Strauss, of all people. Everyone else is home, taking the eight-hour rest ordered of them by their unit chief. They’d tried to sleep in the office the first night, but the arrangement was quickly nixed after Reid woke up screaming from a nightmare, causing Emily to hit her head falling from the couch and almost breaking Morgan’s ankle in his haste to run down the stairs. But Hotch, as usual, has ignored his own orders.</p><p>They have the basics of a profile. A white man, somewhere between thirty and forty-five years old, with access to a black van and a secluded property with a body of water on it. He’s organized but sadistic, a dangerous combination. And he wants his victims to be found. That’s why he takes them for three days before killing, and then dumps their bodies in places they’ll be seen. Cause of death is always drowning. Too much water in the lungs. Not enough oxygen in the brain.</p><p>If they can’t figure out more in the next thirty-six hours, the next body will be David Rossi.</p><p>-</p><p>The setup is surprisingly easy. He’s already strapped to a table. Tilt it a few degrees, and it’ll be perfect. Then grab a few towels and find a source of water. That’s all it takes.</p><p>He must know what’s going to happen by now. That’s the curse of being too smart. It makes everything harder. Even dying.</p><p>Especially dying.</p><p>But there’s no use dwelling on what can’t be changed.</p><p>The towel is over his face now. It’s time.</p><p>Water starts to pour.</p><p>-</p><p>“Drowning is the fifth most common cause of accidental death in the United States,” Reid says. It’s the third time he’s mentioned it. “In some cases, it can take less than a minute.” Hotch knows that what he’s trying to say is ‘<em>at least it’ll be quick</em>.’</p><p>“But these aren’t accidents,” Morgan points out. “It would take a lot longer to hold someone down, right?” Translation: ‘<em>Please tell me we still have time</em>’</p><p>“And they’d have to be strong,” Prentiss adds. “To hold down someone in a body of water.”</p><p>Hotch notices Spencer’s mouth form a deep frown. “Reid, what is it?”</p><p>He looks up at the group. “There were no microorganisms in the water found in the victims’ lungs. And in the two most recent victims, only their heads were wet. I think we’ve been looking at this wrong. The unsub isn’t submerging the victims.”</p><p>“He’s waterboarding them.”</p><p>-</p><p>
  <em>Everything hurts.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I can’t breathe. I’m burning burning burning</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Make it stop. Please, God, make it stop. I’ll do anything to make it stop.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oh God, I’m going to die.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m dying I’m dying I’m dying I’m dying I’m dying I’m dying I’m</em>
</p><p>-</p><p>What terrifies Hotch the most isn’t the gun in the unsub’s hand. It’s the fact that water is pouring over Rossi’s head, and there’s no way he can breathe, but he’s not fighting it. He’s not moving at all.</p><p>The takedown is a blur. Someone fires and the unsub drops to the ground clutching his knee. The hose in his hand drops to the ground, too.</p><p>Aaron runs to Rossi and throws the towel on his face to the floor. His fingers slide to Dave’s neck automatically, and that’s when he sees his chest rise. “He’s breathing!” Hotch shouts. Rossi reacts to the touch, flinching away and trying weakly to get out of his bindings. “Dave! Dave, it’s Aaron. Stop fighting. You’re safe.”</p><p>His eyes snap open, and for a moment there’s nothing but relief. Then he coughs a horrible, sputtering cough that sends shudders through everyone in the room. “Help me get him onto the floor,” Hotch orders. Morgan cuts away his bindings, and together they ease him down to the ground. Every cough expels more water from Rossi’s lungs. Already there’s more than Aaron could have thought possible.</p><p>Dave looks up at Hotch. He opens his mouth and tries to say something. “Don’t speak,” Aaron chides him as he doubles over into another coughing fit. “You’re okay.”</p><p>Rossi is still clutching Hotch’s arm when the medics arrive, and he still hasn’t taken a single full breath. There’s no more water coming out of his lungs, but Aaron has no idea if that’s a good or a bad sign. They lift him onto the stretcher and try to slide an oxygen mask onto his face. But the second Dave sees a hand reach for his face, he flinches away, twisting and turning in a desperate attempt to get away despite his weakened state.</p><p>It only takes a second for Hotch to realize what’s going on. “Dave! It’s just oxygen!” Rossi’s struggling slows slightly. “It’s just oxygen,” he repeats reassuringly. “It’s not going to hurt you. I promise, no one’s going to hurt you, Dave.” Aaron takes the mask from the medic’s hand and holds it in his friend’s line of vision. “See? I’m going to put it on you now.” Rossi shudders between coughs as the oxygen mask slips onto his face, but he doesn’t fight it. “You’re okay. You’re safe.” He squeezes his eyes shut.</p><p>“Sir, we’re going to take you to the hospital now,” one of the medics announces. Rossi manages a weak nod in acknowledgment.</p><p>“I’m coming with him,” Hotch says. The medic starts to argue but stops when she sees how tightly her patient is gripping his arm. It’s as if he needs him more than oxygen.</p><p>As they roll the stretcher into the ambulance, Rossi opens his eyes again. He tries again to remove the oxygen mask, but Aaron gently restrains his hands. “Just relax,” he says. Rossi shakes his head. Hotch frowns and leans closer. “What is it?”</p><p>“Thank you,” he croaks. Dave’s voice is so hoarse that it’s barely recognizable, but it’s still there. “For...finding me. Thank you.”</p><p>Hotch wants to tell him that he didn’t deserve the thanks, that it was his shoddy profiling that let Rossi spend two days alone and in darkness before almost being drowned. But he knows this isn’t the time. So he just nods. “Of course.”</p><p>Rossi smiles faintly and closes his eyes. “Thanks,” he repeats. It’s the last word he manages to say before everything goes dark.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>content warnings for drowning, waterboarding, torture, and mentions of death and murder. Also, an ending that could be interpreted as a major character death (although I didn't intend for it to be a death).</p><p>Yeah, this was a kind of weird piece (I know I've said that for about half of my Whumptober pieces but...). I've been kind of short on time for writing lately and I get weird when I have deadlines, so... Anyways, I hope everyone reading this hears some good news this week. And as always, please leave me any feedback/suggestions (or even criticisms) in the comments or at jet-plane.tumblr.com</p><p><i>tried to keep you close to me<br/>but life got in between<br/>tried to square not being there<br/>but think that I should have been</i><br/>- "Hold Back the River" by James Bay</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>